


Warmest Part of the Winter

by dollylux



Series: The Start of Something [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Rough Sex, Sequel, Sexting, Timestamp, human!Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil has to leave town suddenly for work, leaving Bard with their four kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmest Part of the Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts).



> This takes place nearly three months after the NYE scene in [The Love We Found](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2907074). It's pretty porny, just a warning! 
> 
> For Leslie. <3

Bard realizes very quickly that he loves everything about Thranduil. Every single thing.

He loves the way he cuts apples. He loves the way he’s hopeless at cleaning house, and so he hires people to do it for him. He loves the way he watches the sunrise every morning, without fail, quiet and sweet with his hands around a mug of yerba maté, every color in the sky reflected in the ocean of his eyes. He loves the absolute mess of his hair in the mornings, the wild nest of it as he climbs out of bed pale and naked and looking like every single temptation Bard has ever had, all in one body, contained within silk-soft skin of which Bard has tasted every single inch. He loves the way he laughs, bright and silvery, while he’s watching sitcom reruns. Loves to watch his hands while he works, pinning and sewing and cutting, every move nimble, deft, exact. 

Grace. Thranduil is grace. He’s beautiful. He’s kind and deliberate and is good to Bard’s kids and can make an unbelievable vegan blackberry cobbler.

He’s the love of Bard’s life.

“Uh. Mr. Bowman?”

Bard blinks, coming back into himself in the middle of the work day, grease streaking his cheeks, staining his hands permanently, no matter how many times he washes them and with what, a clipboard in his hand as he writes up a ticket for the car he just finished installing a new transmission in.

“Yeah?” He clears his throat, hoping there’s enough grease on his face to hide the way he blushes. He raises his eyebrows at Olaf who is peeking through the door from the front of the shop, a phone tucked against his chest.

“Phonecall,” Olaf tells him, lifting the phone to offer it to Bard. “Mr. Doriath.”

Thranduil.

Bard hurries toward Olaf, taking the phone and easing past him and into the front of the shop, heading for his office. Thranduil doesn’t call him at work, ever. Why didn’t he try to call his phone?

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, seeing the four missed calls from Thranduil and a text message: _Please call me?_

His stomach drops out as he closes his office door, leaning back against it and lifting the phone to his ear.

“Doll, are you alright?”

“Bard,” Thranduil sighs, his voice shaky and thin, the way it gets when he’s stressed. “I’m okay--”

“Legolas? Is Legolas okay? Where is he?” Bard spins in a circle in his office, already looking for his keys, hand shaking a little as he sifts around on his messy desk.

“He’s at school. He’s fine. Hey,” Thranduil’s voice falls soft, soothing, and it makes Bard pause, makes him let out the breath he’d been holding in a hard whoosh. “We’re okay. I just need your help, if you have a minute?”

“I always have time for you,” Bard tells him, sinking down into his chair and leaning forward on his desk to curl around the phone. “Always. What can I do?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story later, but basically it’s this: I have to leave right now. I’m going to be over in Lórien. Apparently I’m needed to do last minute alterations for _The Lay of Leithian_. Opening night is in three days.”

“What? Why? Didn’t you send all those costumes over weeks ago?”

“It seems their wardrobe supervisor has gone MIA.” Thranduil sounds just as pissed as Bard would expect him to, and Bard is furious on his behalf. “They’re desperate. And since I know these costumes better than anyone, guess who they call?”

“You only have three days to get everything ready? But how are you supposed to--”

“Bard,” Thranduil interrupts, sounding desperate and harried, sounds of shoving and pushing and zipping going on in the background. “I have to go. My flight leaves in an hour. Legolas is in school, and he has no idea. I don’t know what to do with him. He can stay with Aragorn a couple of days, I’m sure, but--”

“He can stay with us. I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry about that, okay? Send me a text later of things you need me to do while you’re gone, and I’ll do it.” Bard stands up like he’s got to do something right now, like he can just swoop in and save the day and make Thranduil stop worrying, but he can’t. He hates it.

“Legolas has a key, so you’ll be able to get in later. He’s the one who keeps this damn house running anyway.” The sound of a door closing, of smart boots clicking on wooden stairs. He’s really leaving. “I’m just… I’m just so--”

“Listen,” Bard says softly, both hands curled around the phone like he’s touching Thranduil’s silken cheeks. Thranduil pauses, everything quiet now except his breathing. “Everything’s gonna be okay. It’ll all work out. Just do what you need to do. I’m right here, and I can take care of home base, alright? I’ve got your back, beautiful. You aren’t alone now.”

More quiet but Bard can hear Thranduil swallow, can tell he actually heard him, is really listening, that he takes what Bard says to heart. 

“Thank you,” Thranduil whispers, and it hurts to be apart from him now, right now. Bard wants to be there, to help him load his car, to make sure he’s dressed for the cooler climate of Lórien in this early spring, to kiss his sweet face and hold him just for a few seconds before he has to let him go.

“Call me later. Please drive carefully. Don’t rush for costumes. They’re not worth it. Even the really pretty ones.”

It draws a laugh out of Thranduil, however weak, and Bard smiles for the sound, considering it a tiny victory.

“Tell Legolas I’ll talk to him this evening?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Bard.”

“Please be careful.”

“Worrywart.”

“Only about people I… I really care about.”

They haven’t said those words yet, not yet but it’s so close, hovering between them, already real and alive, just waiting for the words.

“Bye, Mr. Bowman.” 

It makes Bard smile, the old name. He can hear the smirk in Thranduil’s voice.

“Goodbye, angel.”

He hangs up, takes a deep breath, and heads back to the garage.

 

The rest of the day is spent in distraction, in phone calls between jobs so he can make sure Legolas gets on the bus with Bain at the end of the school day. He leaves early, stopping at the grocery on the way home to make sure he has food that Legolas can eat. Dating a vegan has proven to be a little difficult and quite interesting, and while Bard doesn’t consider himself a chef in any stretch of the imagination, he’s been trying quietly to make at least some meatless meals. Just in case. In case their households join one day. He wants to be ready.

He gets things to make a veggie lasagna, even seeking out a dairy-free cheese just for the hell of it, and fixings for a big salad. He bustles into the house, the early spring evening chill following him into his happy little home.

Tilda is on him before he can even get the door closed, tiny body wrapping around his waist.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, monkey. Thank you for the welcome.” He pets the soft brown of her hair and smiles at Sigrid sitting at the kitchen table, her books spread out around her, laptop open where she’s typing expertly. “Hey, Sig. How was school?”

“Good.” She stands up and comes over to take one of the bags from Bard’s arms and press a kiss to his tired cheek. “What are we making?”

“Lasagna. Listen, is--”

“Legolas and Bain are in his room. They’re doing their homework. I told them they had to before they turned the TV on.” Sigrid is rooting through the bags, pulling everything out and lining it up on the counter. She stops when she gets to the dairy-free cheese, turning to her father with a knowing smirk. “Dad.”

“It’s just, um,” Bard mumbles, busying himself with emptying his own bag, keeping his head down to hide his face from his eldest. “I just wanted to make sure that Legolas could eat it.”

Her smile is unreadable but tugging at her mouth, her eyes nothing but fond when Bard looks up at her.

“You’ve got it so bad,” she remarks almost happily.

Bard ruffles, taking the empty bag from her and folding it up with his own to tuck under the sink.

“Wash your hands before you start. I’ll be back in a minute to help.”

He gooses her side as he walks by her, making her jump and swat at him, and he’s grinning as he makes his way down the hall with Tilda still attached to his side.

“Daddy, is Legolas really staying with us!? Is he really?”

“Yeah, love, he really, really is. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Yes!” Tilda jumps up and down, all courage now that she’s not in front of Legolas. She gets so quiet around him, almost shy, even after three months of pretty regular interaction with him. “Is he gonna sleep in Bain’s room?!”

“Probably.” Bard laughs when he looks down at her beaming face, reaching down to cup her cheek. “Listen, why don’t you go help your sister start dinner? Will you?”

She nods, giving one last hop before she’s skipping away back down the hall, leaving Bard looking after her in wonder. If he had a tenth of her energy.

Bain and Legolas are indeed doing their homework when he peeks into the room, and he only just barely contains his surprise.

“How’s it going?” He steps into the room after a gentle knock on the open door, smiling at the green and blue eyes that look up to meet him. Legolas sits up, making room for Bard to sit on the bed.

“Is my Dad okay?”

“He’s fine,” Bard assures him, wanting to reach out and touch him, comfort him in the way he does his own kids, in the way he’s seen Thranduil do countless times, but he’s not quite there yet. “Costume emergency. Your dad was needed for a dramatic rescue. Something about buttons and fittings and thimbles. Sounded serious.”

Legolas smiles, some of the worry melting away from his sweet face immediately.

“He said he’d call,” Bard continues, reaching into his pocket to check his phone. “How about we head over to your house and get some of your stuff so you’re not just stuck wearing that shirt for the next few days?”

“Yeah,” Legolas says quietly, almost as shy as Tilda gets around him, something he’s never seen before on the always eager and happy boy. He closes his book around his notebook and pencil while Bain does the same.

“I’m coming, too.” Bain jumps off the bed in search of his shoes. Bard stands up on aching legs, just barely holding in a sigh.

The last thing he wants to do after a long day at work is be in the car with two eternally energetic boys for over an hour, but here he is.

He checks his phone again, probably the fiftieth time that day. No text, no call.

He already misses him.

 

The trip to the Doriaths is uneventful, and they’re there just long enough for Legolas to gather his things while Bain and Bard fill up the deer feeders and check on the garden Bard and Thranduil had started for the deer a couple of weeks ago.

He steps briefly into Thranduil’s room, a place he’s spent quite a bit of time since New Year’s Eve, and his face heats at the sight of the large, primly made bed, the scattered rushes of clothes everywhere. He can smell the faint scent of Thranduil there, whatever perfume he rubs into his skin, whatever lotion, and the underlying, familiar scent of his person, skin and hair. He stomach tightens. He checks his phone again. 

Nothing.

 

It rings on the way back home, and he answers it on speaker, heart already racing.

“Hello?”

“These stupid fucking--”

“You’re on speaker, babe. Bain and Legolas are with me.”

“...Oh. Sorry. Hi, hon!” 

“Hi, Dad.” Legolas leans toward the phone, reaching for it like he wants to take it. Bard brings the phone closer to his mouth to speak softly to Thranduil.

“I’m gonna pass the phone off to him. He’s been nervous and just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

Legolas takes the phone and pushes his mouth up close to the speaker, probably breathing loud into Thranduil’s ear. It makes Bard smile.

“Dad?” Legolas sounds small, unsure, so much so that Bard reaches around Bain on the bench seat and cups the back of Legolas’s head, stroking over that silken hair that is so much like his father’s. “When are you coming home?”

“Hey, button. I’m sorry I had to leave the way I did. It’s been a crazy day. I won’t be home until Saturday.”

Legolas is quiet then, the speaker pressed right up against his mouth while everyone waits him out. 

“It’s okay,” he says finally, with courage that surprises Bard completely. He glances over as he slows to a stop at the light just up from the house, a smile pulling on his lips in the dark of the truck. “I’m with Mr. Bowm--with Bard and Bain. I will be okay.”

“I know you will. We love the Bowmans, don’t we?”

Bard’s cheeks flush, heart skipping up toward the back of his throat.

“Yes.” Legolas smiles shyly over at Bain and Bard.

“If you wanna hang out with Aragorn at all, you just let Bard know, okay? I don’t think he’ll mind. Will you, Bard?”

“Of course not,” he promises. “He’s welcome over any time.”

“Listen, I have to get off here. I’m still at the theatre. I’ll be doing fittings until at least ten. Sir, I’ll call you tonight when I get back to the room, alright?”

“Okay,” Bard all but mumbles, feeling the heat from hearing that word spread all through him. If he’d known Thranduil was going to leave today, he would have gone over to the Doriaths last night for a thorough goodbye. “Take care.”

Thranduil makes what should probably be embarrassing kissy sounds into the phone, and when he hangs up, all three of them are laughing.

 

After dinner, Legolas insists on doing the dishes before they all settle in to watch a little TV. Tilda is warm where she’s sprawled across him, her head on his chest, and he dozes off without even realizing it. He wakes up to Sigrid draping a blanket over him, to most of the lights in the house off except the one on the end table beside him.

“Everyone’s in bed,” Sigrid whispers, giving Bard a smile. “You probably shouldn’t sleep on the couch, old man.”

“Old man,” Bard grumbles, only wincing a little as he hoists himself up, his hair messy, eyes bleary. “As soon as I manage to get off this couch, you’ll pay for that.”

“Uh-huh,” Sigrid smirks, leaning over to kiss Bard’s cheek. “Night, Dad.”

He smiles as he closes his eyes again.

“Night.”

 

When he wakes up again, it’s after midnight, and he gasps awake, remembering Thranduil’s promise to call. He grabs his phone off the coffee table and sees his two missed calls, guilt flying all through him.

He calls him back immediately.

“Hey, you.”

“I’m so sorry. I fell asleep on the couch. I’m sorry I missed your call. Wait, I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Thranduil laughs, soft and tired.

“No. I’m back in my room, but I’m sewing. Ordered some room service finally. I’ll probably be up working for another few hours.”

“You need to sleep,” Bard sighs, relaxing back against the couch, his eyes falling closed again just to focus on Thranduil’s voice. “You won’t be any good to anyone if you’re exhausted.”

“I don’t really have a choice right now. It’s only for three days. I just need to get through this so I can get home.”

“I miss you.” He doesn’t mean to say it, really he doesn’t, but it comes out. It’s quiet between them, an aching sort of quiet that Bard knows means Thranduil shares the sentiment, probably too much, and saying it back would feel like an understatement. So they press together through the phone, over the miles, sharing the quiet ache of it.

“Thank you for taking care of Legolas. I don’t know what I would do if… if I didn’t…”

“You don’t have to wonder. Okay? It’s no problem. I love that boy. He’s such an amazing kid. Do you know that he washes _and_ dries dishes?”

Thranduil laughs, such a gorgeous sound, and it makes Bard grin.

“Seriously! Both! He’s going to be quite the catch someday.”

“I think he’s already caught, for all intents and purposes.” Thranduil sounds thoughtful, fond, and it makes Bard’s eyes slip open, going unfocused on the ceiling.

“Oh?”

“He and Aragorn,” Thranduil sighs, but it’s an adoring sort of sigh. “They’re inseparable. Truly. They have been for as long as I can remember.”

Bard grins.

“Is it love?”

“I think so. He calls Aragorn his boyfriend, but only to me. He still gets shy about it. I mean, they’re ten. You remember being ten.”

“Mm,” Bard agrees, eyes slipping closed again. “It’s sweet. That he already has someone. It’s an amazing feeling.”

“It is.” Thranduil’s voice is soft, like they’re sharing a pillow, mouths inches apart. “Hey, get back to sleep. I’m gonna keep working here. I’ll text you in the morning, okay?”

“Please get some rest. Promise me.”

“Promise.”

“Miss you.”

“I miss you, Bard. Already.”

Bard sighs. He knows right then that this is going to be the longest three days of his life.

 

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?” 

The tone is joking coming from Olaf, but it makes Bard stop on his way out the door, makes him turn to face his employee with a raised eyebrow that causes Olaf to duck his head.

“I was kidding, boss. Really. I didn’t--”

“I have four kids to go home to. And dinner to make. Surely you can handle finishing up two jobs and closing up with the other two people that are still here. Right?”

“ _Four_ kids?”

“Is that a yes?”

Olaf looks contrite.

“Yessir.”

Bard smirks.

“Don’t call me sir.”

He ducks out then, keys jingling in his hand as he pulls his phone out to text his boyfriend.

_tell me something that makes you happy._

Thranduil responds before he can start his truck up.

_Your dick in my mouth._

Bard groans. He rests his head against the back of his seat and sighs up at the ceiling, ignoring the way his cock stirs at just reading those words on a screen in the middle of a long day. He chews on his bottom lip, left hand idly rubbing at his dick while he texts Thranduil back.

_i was really thinking something more innocent than that, my love._

_Were you? Sorry. I’ve been a little distracted today. Trying to think of good things to keep my mind off of the insane stress I’m under right now._

Bard grins.

_so my dick is a good thing?_

_Your dick is a very, very, very very very good thing._

_would you object to me sending you a dirty picture later?_

He watches the typing bubble, thumb circling over the head even as he tries to convince himself he needs to be good.

_I want one right now, send me one right now. Please?_

_I’ve got to get home. Got to make dinner and help Sigrid study for her history midterm._

_Please, sir? Pretty please?_

“Oh, fucking hell,” Bard mutters under his breath, lifting his eyes to glance around the nearly empty parking lot of the body shop even as he’s thumbing his jeans open, tugging down on the zipper and reaching inside to pull his cock out. He’s mostly hard now, the tip glistening with a drop of slick, and it’s burning hot in his palm where he cups it, taking a picture of it and not looking too long at it before he sends it.

He grits his teeth as he tucks it back into his underwear and close his pants back up, always up for a little bit of torturous pain with his pleasure, but the thought that he won’t get any real relief for days is enough to make him go a little insane.

The picture sends. Thranduil’s reply is almost immediate.

_I want to be choking on that thing. Right now._

_your turn_

_Later, I promise. I’m here at the theatre and there’s no way I could send you what I want to right now. <3_

_i’m holding you to that_

_Later. I’ll make it up to you. xxx_

Bard manages to get his truck started and head home, the promise of _later_ the only thing motivating him at this point.

 

Later comes in the form of a picture of Thranduil’s tight pink hole as seen from below, like it’s about to lower down on Bard’s face, surrounded by the lush pale swell of Thranduil’s ass.

Bard flies up from the couch, nearly making Bain drop his bowl of coconut milk ice cream and startling every single person in the room. His eyes are wild, his face flushed, and there are four sets of eyes blinking up at him in confusion.

“...Daddy?” Tilda ventures.

“I-I’ve gotta go, ah. Take a phone call. Olaf is, um. I’ve.” He clears the hurdle of scrawny kid legs and rushes from the living room and toward his bedroom, opening up the picture the second he collapses on his bed. He holds his phone over his head, trying to mimic the way the picture was taken, and his mouth floods with saliva while he reaches down to knead his neglected cock. Another text chimes through.

_Don’t you dare come yet._

Bard yanks his hand away from his dick and growls softly under his breath, forcing himself to lie back and relax, to calm down before he replies.

_are you alone?_

_Nearly. There’s a guy here for a fitting but he will be gone in about ten minutes._

Ten minutes. He can do that.

Wait.

_gone from where? is he in your room?_

His phone rings silently, vibrating in his hand. He answers it.

“You jealous?” Thranduil sounds like he’s smiling, that knowing smile he gets when he’s got Bard figured out, when he can guess the next words out of Bard’s mouth, when he’s sinking to his knees in front of Bard without warning. That smile. Bard doesn’t hold it in when another growl rumbles around in his chest.

“It was just a question,” Bard offers lamely, too happy to be talking to Thranduil at all to really be upset. But yeah, maybe he is jealous.

“Hm,” is all Thranduil says in reply. “You know how to use FaceTime, right?”

“What?”

There’s some movement and then Thranduil sounds a little farther away. “Hit accept, love.”

Bard pulls the phone away, obeys his boyfriend, and is suddenly rewarded with his tired, beautiful face. Bard actually gasps, his chest tightening.

“Oh, wow.”

Thranduil laughs, and Bard gets to see it this time, gets to see the smile break across his face like sun through clouds. 

“Modern technology, right? You’ve never done this before?”

“No. No, I,” Bard mumbles, scrambling to sit up, not to look completely ridiculous staring up at Thranduil where he’s still holding his phone over his face, “I just barely know how to text on this thing. Sigrid has to show me the rest.”

“We’ll have some fun with it later. I just wanted you to meet Thavron. He’s in the play.” The camera turns and there’s an older guy with thinning hair and a round face wearing a robe with pins sticking out of it at the shoulders. The guy looks at Bard through the camera and gives him a smile, lifting his arm awkwardly under all those pins to wave.

Bard waves back sheepishly.

“Heya, Thavron. Nice to meet you.”

“This is my boyfriend,” Thranduil explains from the side of Bard’s view into the hotel suite, those blue eyes finding Bard somehow, even from hundreds of miles away. “He was wondering who was in my hotel room with me.”

Thavron’s smile widens as he shakes his head a little, still looking at the phone. “Just me. Boring old married guy with two kids. Nobody exciting.”

“I didn’t,” Bard tries to defend himself, but it’s useless. The camera is just on Thranduil now, his face soft with what can only be called adoration. Bard’s cheeks feel hot when he looks up at him. “Sorry.”

Thranduil smiles.

“I love it. You getting all possessive and jealous and not even meaning to.”

“I just miss you.” He catches the pattern of Thranduil’s shirt, a flannel one of a familiar color. He blinks. “Is… that my shirt?”

He swears he can see Thranduil’s cheeks flush, those lovely eyes lowering.

“Maybe. Give me twenty minutes,” Thranduil replies softly. “I’ll call you back.”

“I can just wait--”

“Twenty minutes,” Thranduil promises before he tips his face up and presses a kiss right over the camera. The last thing Bard sees is his grin before he hangs up, that face he loves so much disappearing.

He shuffles back out into the livingroom to rouse the kids, herding them to bed and picking up the inevitable mess left in their wake. He locks the doors and turns all the lights off, and his phone rings in his pocket the second he gets his door closed, gets the lock turned on the knob.

He answers on the second ring.

“I’m sorry for letting my caveman out earlier.”

“Lucky for both of us, I find that caveman sexy.” Thranduil sighs like he’s settling back, maybe for the first time all day. “How’s my sweet boy?”

“He’s good.” Bard leans back against the headboard, realizing then how tired he is, how much he wants nothing more than to wrap around Thranduil’s warm body and go to sleep. He feels that ache in his chest again, the one that is starting to become familiar. “Almost the last day before spring break. They’re just doing worksheets in class right now, I think. And Aragorn joined us for dinner this evening and went home about an hour ago.”

“Good. And how’s my man doing?”

Bard smiles, sinking down deeper onto the mattress.

“Your man, hmm?”

“My man. My savior, my golden-cocked lover. My darling dearest who can ruin me with one touch. How is he?”

“Missing you,” Bard repeats, head hitting the pillow as his hand slips down into his pajama pants, cupping his dick but not rubbing yet, just holding the way Thranduil likes to do sometimes when they’re just sprawled out together, watching TV or reading or napping or talking. “I didn’t realize how much I would.”

“You still hard for me?”

“Gettin’ there,” Bard gruffs, squeezing himself with intention now, legs spreading wider on the bed. “Sending me a picture of that ass and expectin’ me not to come.”

“Not without me.” Thranduil is practically purring now, low and soft and right against Bard’s ear. Bard reaches up to turn the light by his bed off and he closes his eyes while he wraps his hand around his dick. “Talk to me. What were you thinking about when you saw that picture?”

“How much I want you to sit on my face,” he says quietly, mindful of the fact that the kids are here and probably still awake. “How much I want you to ride my tongue for hours.”

“Hours? You want to eat my ass for hours?” He’s breathy now, like he’s touching himself too, and it makes Bard’s hips strain up, the head of his dick pushing up into the tight, dry circle his fingers are making.

“Get you all soft and loose,” Bard murmurs back, tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. “Get you so ready for me.”

“I still have beard burn on my ass and my thighs. Do you know that?” Thranduil sounds so pleased by that, like he’s running his fingers over that raw, abraded skin. “From Sunday night when you rimmed me until I came all over my bed?”

“Untouched,” Bard breathes, his dick pulsing hot in his hand, slick dripping down toward his fingers to ease the stroke. “Just from my tongue inside of you. God, I can still taste you.”

“Are you touching yourself, Bard? Are you jacking that big cock thinking about me?”

“Always,” he confesses, his cheeks heating up while he gives his dick a squeeze, wishing Thranduil was here so he could tip his cock right into that mouth, into all that sucking warmth. “Have since the first day I met you.”

“Ohh, I don’t know this story.” Thranduil is truly purring now, panting right into the phone, his voice husky and low. “Tell me.”

“When you showed up at my house. Like a fucking wet dream. And you’d barely look at me. Like you were shy or something. Like you already wanted to bend over for me but you were trying to be good.”

“You could tell?” Soft and almost sweet but Bard knows better. Knows that he’s right, knows that Thranduil is a dirty little freak in bed and that he probably had vivid fantasies of his own that night.

“I could tell,” Bard whispers, stroking just the head of his cock now, already so close, too close. He eases off a little, forces himself to breathe. “Got off thinking about you that night, after the kids went to bed.”

“What did you think about? Please tell me?”

“Ask me right.”

“Please tell me, sir?” It comes on a sigh, a relieved, breathy one, and Bard smiles even as he eases out more precome over his own fingers. It’s Thranduil’s thing, that word, gets him so hot to call Bard that, to beg him with it while he crawls toward Bard on his hands and knees, eyes on his dick. Fuck.

“Thought about getting you from behind. About pounding your ass hard, making it bounce. About getting a hand around all that hair and yanking your head back to make you arch real deep while I fucked you. Make you look like a pornstar.” He’s back to stroking his dick hard, his balls full and tight while he lifts his hips, trying to get at his hand that he’s so desperately pretending is Thranduil’s ass. 

“Fuck me,” Thranduil gasps in his ear, his voice shivery and hot, and Bard can tell because he knows Thranduil intimately now that he’s got his fingers inside of himself, that he’s pretending just as much as Bard is. “Fuck me hard fuck me, sir. Fuck me fuck me.”

“Gonna take my load? Are you gonna be good and take my load, beautiful?” It’s building fast, lightning up his spine, and his heart is thumping hard in his chest while his cock jerks in his grip.

“ _Yes_ ,” Thranduil sobs, sounding exactly like he does when he’s hanging off of Bard’s dick, when he’s shaking apart on it. “Give it to me.”

“Say please,” Bard manages to say, his mouth parted to pant up at the ceiling, wrist aching from how fast he’s tugging on his dick.

“ _Please._ ” It’s all Thranduil can say before he’s coming, and he’s literally sobbing out Bard’s name over and over, the desperate, strung-out sounds he’s making like music to Bard’s ears. Bard comes all over himself, all over his tight, twitching stomach, emptying in thick streams and wishing it was inside of Thranduil.

“Keep those fingers inside yourself.” Bard is shaking all over, shuddering hard while he clutches at his cock. “Keep those fingers still and tell me what you feel like inside.”

“Aching for you,” Thranduil sighs, still breathing hard. “Empty and burning up and aching tight for you.”

“I hate when you leave,” Bard breathes, his voice low, wrecked. “I hate not being next to you every second. I hate sleeping in an empty bed.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep. I can barely eat or smile or anything. It’s so stupid how much I miss you. I just feel like a ghost of myself without you.”

“It’s not stupid.” Bard smiles to himself, wiping the load on his stomach off with a tissue before tossing it blindly toward the trash. It’s amazing to hear Thranduil talk like this, to hear this honesty without shame. “I feel the same way.”

“I’m feeling nice and fucked now though,” Thranduil says quietly, like he’s blushing even as he’s saying it. “Might be able to fall asleep.”

“Go sleep,” Bard whispers, nuzzling at the cold phone screen and wishing with everything in him that it was Thranduil’s flushed face instead. “Have sweet dreams and rest.”

“Miss you.”

“Can’t wait to kiss you again. I’m gonna hold you all night when I get you back here.”

“We’re so sappy.”

Bard grins.

“I know. I love it.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night, Thranduil.”

 

Bard falls into a restless sleep, drifting in and out before he finally sighs and glances over at the clock in the dark: 3:18. He pushes the covers back and climbs out of bed, the wood floor cold against his bare feet as he pads out to the main part of the house.

There’s a lump on the couch under a blue blanket, a tiny light shining from underneath it. Bard smiles and takes a few steps closer, chest flooding with warmth when he realizes it’s Legolas.

“Hey, buddy,” he says quietly, not wanting to scare him. Legolas jumps anyway, big eyes blinking at him from under his little one-boy blanket fort, a book in his lap with a booklight attached to it. He sinks down on the couch next to him, sitting closer than he would normally, knocking his shoulder against Legolas’s tiny one. “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Legolas mumbles, turning off his booklight and closing the book. He puts it on the coffee table and turns toward Bard on the couch, still curled up under his blanket. 

“Yeah, me neither.” He smiles when Legolas’s socked feet nestle in under his thigh. He rests back against the couch cushion and closes his eyes with a sigh. “It’s been a long couple of days, hasn’t it?”

He can hear the rustle of the blanket as Legolas apparently nods. 

“Do you…” Legolas starts out soft and trails off into nothing. It makes Bard open his eyes, look over at him. He has the blanket pulled down around his shoulders and his eyes are on Bard, watching him in the near darkness. Bard turns to face him, leaning back against the other arm of the couch, reaching for the bottom of Legolas’s blanket to cover his own feet up with it.

“Do I what?”

“Do you miss Dad?”

_Do I miss Thranduil?_

Bard takes a deep breath that he lets out in a long sigh. He rests his cheek against the couch cushion, eyes tired and soft on Legolas.

“Yes. I do. Very, very much.”

Legolas nods, fidgeting with the ends of his blanket as a quiet settles down between them. A car goes by outside, the only sound in their night.

“Do you love my dad?”

Bard’s eyes widen in the dark.

“I, um. That’s. I don’t. I-I haven’t exactly--”

“Because he loves you. A lot.”

Bard lets out the breath he’d been holding, his shoulders drooping.

“We haven’t exactly said that to each other yet.”

“But I know he does. I can tell.” Legolas looks back up at Bard, holding him with those blue eyes just as surely as Thranduil does. “He can’t go to bed until he tells you goodnight. He talks about you all the time. He even talks about you to my aunt Maleneth.”

“Your… your mom’s sister, right?”

Legolas nods again, turning to look toward the window and outside where it’s started to rain. Bard can’t help but follow suit, looking that way himself, feeling for all the world like he’s talking to a mystic of sorts, an old wise man whose words he should probably heed.

“He used to cry at night,” Legolas finally tells him, his eyes still on the rain. “He doesn’t know that I could hear him, but I could. Aragorn said that maybe he was missing Mom, but I just think maybe he was lonely.”

Bard’s throat tightens, tears burning sudden and unexpected at the back of his eyes. He hates thinking of Thranduil like that, ever.

“I know how that feels,” he confesses. “The missing and the loneliness. I think you and Aragorn were probably both right.”

“I wish Dad was here, too.” Legolas sighs and looks back at Bard, searching his eyes. “That we could all be here and he wasn’t by himself.”

“Maybe next weekend we can all have a sleepover. Either here or at your place. Watch some movies, eat junk food, stay up way too late, dance like idiots. What do you say?” He grins at Legolas, leaning forward with his eyebrows raised.

Legolas’s smile is shy and happy, and he nods as he pulls his blanket tighter around him, pulling it back up over the top of his head.

“Can I ask Aragorn to come? Maybe?”

Bard smiles, reaching out to rest a hand on top of Legolas’s blanketed head.

“Aragorn is welcome anywhere and everywhere, always. You don’t even have to ask. Alright?”

“Okay,” Legolas says softly, his smile so big that he ducks his head to hide it.

“We should try and sleep. Your dad’ll get on both our cases if we don’t.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Legolas’s forehead, surprised when little arms wrap around his neck, holding on in a tight hug.

Bard settles back against the corner of the couch, pulling Legolas with him, cradling his ever-growing body in his lap, letting him settle in against his chest. He hugs him right back over the blanket, running his hands gently up and down his back while Legolas hugs him.

“We can hang out here for awhile,” Bard says softly, letting his eyes fall closed. “Get some sleep, hon.”

They fall quiet again, Bard’s arms wrapped loosely around Legolas’s little back, cheek cushioned on the top of his head.

They’re asleep within minutes.

 

_give me two songs to listen to this morning._

Bard tucks his phone back into his pocket and leans back over into the guts of the F-250 he’s working on, about to reach in for the fuses when his phone buzzes.

_Good morning, my darling. What sort of songs would you like?_

Bard smiles, curling down over his phone in the middle of the garage, in the middle of the loud classic rock and men talking and machines running, and texts his boyfriend back.

_songs that will make me think of you. that you want me to hear this morning._

_and good morning. :)_

It takes a couple of minutes, but Thranduil replies.

_Hmm. “Cosmic Dancer” by T. Rex and “Wild Eyes” by Mariee Sioux._

Bard fumbles with his phone, squinting down at it while he thumbs through his apps to get to the Apple store where he downloads both of them. 

_downloading :)_

_Will you give me two songs, too? I like this idea. I’m sewing on sequins this morning, and I would love to escape, even if only in my mind. <3_

Bard bites down on his bottom lip, flipping through his phone to get to his music and scrolling through his songs, trying to find two worthy of Thranduil’s lovely ears. (Not that he’s biased.)

_warmest part of the winter by voxtrot and these arms of mine by otis redding_

He waits for Thranduil’s reply, a little nervous at the thought of him listening to the songs. He hasn’t made a playlist for someone in years and years. Sure, there are lots of songs he listens to that make him think of Thranduil, but giving him songs. It’s a little scary.

_Thank you. I’ve got to get back to work. Missing you/holding you in my mind._

“Boss, can you come here for a second?” a voice echoes from the other side of the garage. Bard holds in a sigh.

_good luck today. you’re the most amazing person i know. miss you too._

He tucks his phone in his pocket with his headphones. Back to work.

 

He’s eating a cold turkey sandwich and drinking a bottle of root beer with Roald and Swain from the shop when his phone chimes in the breast pocket of his coveralls. He reaches in absently for it as he takes a swig of root beer and nearly chokes when he opens the text message.

“Ooh, boss gettin’ dirty pictures?” Swain leans over where he’s sitting in the booth at the deli next to Bard to see the picture that Bard’s opened. Roald joins him and before Bard can stop either of them, they’ve seen the picture: an almost artistic shot of the soft tightness of Thranduil's stomach as seen from the side, the deep, exaggerated curve of his back and the gorgeous swell of his ass, all miles of pale skin, every inch of him utter perfection.

“Damn,” Bard breathes, cradling the phone to his chest and looking his fill while Swain and Roald just stare at him with gaping mouths.

“Is that your girlfriend?”

Bard looks up at their moon-eyed faces, doesn’t know which one asked. He sits up a little straighter, trying to keep the smugness of his face.

“Boyfriend.”

He texts Thranduil back in the stunned silence that follows.

_you have no idea how beautiful you are. you really, really don’t._

“I didn’t know guys could look like that,” Roald whispers to Swain.

_;) Hope you’re having a good day._

Bard laughs, grinning down at his phone.

_i am now! all that skin won’t stay perfect for long when i get ahold of you again._

“Are you sexting at lunch?!” Roald makes to reach for Bard’s phone again which just makes Bard smash himself tighter into the corner of the booth, eyes glued to the screen for Thranduil’s reply.

_Oh, yeah? What are you going to do to it?_

“Don’t you two have some work to do?” Bard mutters, turning so his back is to the wall and they most definitely cannot see his phone as he texts his boyfriend back.

_gonna cover it in bitemarks and spank you completely raw, just the way you like it._

It had taken a month or so before Thranduil confessed his love of being spanked, of being dominated in a way Bard has never done with anyone else. They play at it sometimes, let it build up until Thranduil is on his knees begging, and then and only then will Bard give in, marking Thranduil up until he’s coming and a sobbing mess across Bard’s lap and Bard is hard enough to pound nails.

Thank god Legolas spends a lot of time at Aragorn’s.

_Mm. Okay, you’ve sufficiently distracted me now. Back to work with me or I’m going to start begging._

_oh, you’ll beg. i promise. call me later ;)_

When they pile out of the booth to pay their tickets and head back to work, Bard is still smiling, cheeks still flushed.

 

His phone doesn’t ring again until it’s nearly time for bed. 

Bard tosses the towel over his shoulder, pausing in drying the dishes to grab the phone off the counter and answer it with a grateful sigh.

“Hey, angel.”

“God, it’s so good to hear your voice. Will you just talk to me for a minute. Just a minute?” Thranduil sounds exhausted, his voice quiet.

“What, this old thing?” Bard smiles as he ducks out of the kitchen and down the hall toward his bedroom. “Just got done eating dinner. Legolas and Sigrid made us some kind of pizza with all kinds of veggies on it that was actually amazing. So me’n Bain did dishes and Tilda tried to sweep but was woefully unsuccessful, so Legolas was nice enough to help her. He’s such an amazing kid, doll.”

“He is.” Almost a whisper.

Bard falls back on his unmade bed with a sigh.

“Anyway, today at work was steady, I guess. I listened to those two songs all day. They were beautiful. They made me miss you so much that I almost didn’t know what to do with myself. It feels so stupid because you haven’t been gone that long. And you’re coming back soon. But I can’t help it.”

“You’re not alone. Promise.”

Bard smiles, letting his eyes fall closed.

“I felt like this back around Christmas, too,” he confesses, keeping his voice as quiet as Thranduil’s. “When you two were gone. It felt like a piece that I’d just finally gotten back, something that had been missing in me, was just gone again. It felt like a loss. This feels like a loss, right now.”

“Is it horrible of me that I love hearing that?”

“No,” Bard laughs, grinning against the glass screen. “Hey, do you want to talk to Legolas? He misses you as much as I do.”

“Yes,” Thranduil sighs, but it sounds more like relief this time. “That’s actually why I called. Tonight is going to be the busiest. We go on tomorrow, and so everything has to be finished tonight, more or less. I called to say goodnight.”

“I’ll go get him.” Bard savors the quiet, of hearing Thranduil’s voice while he’s in his own bed just for a few more seconds before he’s hauling himself up, tired legs taking him back toward the living room. “Good luck. You’re doing an amazing job. I know it.”

“Thank you.” He sounds so tired, so drained, that Bard feels tears burning in his eyes. “I’ll get in touch tomorrow, okay?”

“Legolas,” Bard whispers, beckoning him over when he looks up from playing some overly-complicated video game with Bain on the couch. He turns his attention back to the phone. “Just call whenever you get the chance to. I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.”

He holds onto the phone just a beat longer, the ache settling in all over him and pressing hard, painful into his bones. He can barely muster a smile for Legolas as he passes the phone over. Legolas watches him for a moment, solemn eyes trained on him before he puts the phone to his ear and disappears down the hall toward Bain’s room.

“Hey, Dad.”

Bard pulls the towel from his shoulder and gets back to the dishes, loneliness gathering up on him and pushing against him, making his shoulders curl in, his chest ache. 

He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

 

“Phone call for Mr. Bowman,” comes over the tinny speaker in the garage the next morning, and Bard’s head shoots up in alarm.

He plays through nightmare scenarios in the fifteen seconds it takes for him to run to the front of the shop just like he’d done earlier in the week when Thranduil had called. He grabs the phone from his receptionist and tucks it against his shoulder.

“This is Bard.”

“Hey, it’s Legolas.”

Alarm bells go off in his head.

“Legolas, why are you calling me? Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to school?”

“The bus is coming in a minute. I just wanted to call you. Please listen, I only have a couple of minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” He ducks into his office and shuts the door, sitting down on his desk and trying not to worry himself into a stroke. “I’m listening.”

“You’re going to Lórien tonight.”

Bard blinks.

“I’m… I’m _what_?”

“You’re going to Lórien,” Legolas repeats patiently. “For the opening of the play. I bought you a ticket this morning. It starts at six.”

“But--”

“I’m staying at Aragorn’s this weekend. And Sigrid and Bain and Tilda are going to stay with your mom and dad. Sigrid called them this morning. They’re going to come pick them up after school.” Legolas is calm as he says it all, but his voice gets faster, happier, to the point that there’s almost an exclamation point at the end of his last sentence. Bard stares at the clipboard on the back of his door, stunned.

“So... I’m going for the weekend?”

“I thought maybe you would drive back with dad on Sunday. He can get the room for a couple more days, and you can surprise him. He likes good surprises. He says he doesn’t, but he does.”

“But, I’m at work, I’ve--”

“You’re the boss, right?”

Bard squirms, feeling a little chided by a ten-year-old.

“Well. Yeah.”

“So take the rest of the day off. You should leave soon.”

It all sounds kind of perfect, amazing actually. Getting Thranduil to himself for the weekend, no work, no kids. It’s like heaven. His heart is racing by the time he slips off the edge of his desk, and he’s nodding into the phone.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. This is… wow. Legolas, how the hell did you think of this by yourself?”

“I’ve gotta go! You’re going to pick your ticket up at the window at the theatre! Wear something nice, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll. I, uh--”

“Bye!”

“...Bye.” He pulls the phone away from his ear, staring at it in amazement before he gives a huff of laughter.

Kids.

 

Lórien is a little over four hours away, and Bard gets on the road by noon. He’s wearing his one nice suit, got an overnight bag on the floorboard, and an unbelievable bouquet of white flowers beside him on the seat: roses, lilies, snapdragons, and salal, all snow-white, the smell of them filling the cabin of his truck. He’s so excited, his hands are shaking.

 

He parks outside of the theatre that Legolas had so thoughtfully left him an address for, sitting where he is for a long time and just watching people pile in through the front doors, dressed to the nines and talking excitedly as they disappear into the theatre.

He looks in his rearview mirror, smoothing his hair back into the low ponytail he’s wearing, takes a deep breath, and climbs out of the car.

 

The play is amazing.

It’s tragic and romantic and beautiful, nothing like Bard has ever seen in person. He’s distracted though, by the costumes, leaning forward in his seat to take in all the details of each one, pride filling up his chest near to bursting at how beautiful they are, how talented Thranduil is.

He lets most everyone leave after the play is over, just stays in his seat, staring at the lowered red velvet curtain, reminding himself that Thranduil is back there. The one he belongs to is back there.

He meanders outside and finds a crowd gathered at a side door to the theatre. It’s cold in the March evening, and he wishes he’d thought to bring his coat. He stops near two women who are huddle together near the side of the door, clearing his throat gently.

“Excuse me,” he says in a quiet voice. “What’s happening over here?”

Both women turn to look at him, taking in his scruffy face, his tailored suit, the bursting bouquet in his grasp. Their smiles turn a lot more flirtatious.

“This is where the cast and crew come out,” the one on the right explains, licking her red lips delicately.

“Ah.” Bard grins, eyes on the door now. “Just what I wanted to hear. Thank you.”

The door opens just then, and everyone that had been calm before suddenly comes to life.

Bard recognizes the stars easily, the ones who are handed flowers and stuffed teddy bears and who are asked for their autographs and surrounded by adoring fans, preventing them from going any further. Others slip out past them, presumably the crew, some with bags or small tackle boxes or on their phones. Bard watches all of them, his heart in his throat, hands tight on the bouquet.

Thranduil appears in the doorway.

His hair is twisted up into a loose nest at the back of his head, and he pulls the nearly floor-length heathered grey sweater he’s wearing tighter around his chest, the whole thing luxurious and soft and dramatic looking. He’s easily the most beautiful thing that’s left out of this door tonight, by far.

No one gives him a second look.

Bard’s heart is thudding loudly in his ears but he sees his moment and takes it, stepping forward into Thranduil’s path just as he tries to weave through the crowd.

“Excu--” The words die on Thranduil’s tongue when their eyes meet. His petal pink mouth is parted in speechlessness, lashes fluttering over big eyes, his cheeks flooding with heat. Bard watches all of it, soaks it in, takes in the soft scent of him, in how heartbreakingly beautiful he is, in just being near him again. It all feels like a miracle.

“Congratulations,” Bard manages to say, his voice shaking with emotion. “It was amazing. Everyone looked incredible.”

He hands Thranduil the flowers, pressing them into his pale hands. The movement seems to waken Thranduil somehow, making him gasp as he looks down at what he’s now holding, blinking at the flowers before he meets Bard’s gaze again. His eyes are filled with tears.

Bard finds himself with his arms full of a warm, trembling body, Thranduil’s shuddering breath right against his ear, his arms so tight around Bard’s neck that it almost hurts. He wraps his arms around Thranduil, holding him firmly, one hand cradling the back of his head. There are people watching them, wondering who Thranduil is, surely, who he was and why he deserves such a greeting and such a fancy bunch of flowers.

They don’t seem to understand that Thranduil is the most important, beautiful person in the entire world.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Thranduil whispers in between gasps. He’s crying, really crying. Bard tightens his arms around him, turning his head as best as he can to press kisses to the side of Thranduil’s neck. “I can’t believe it.”

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of this cold. Is your hotel nearby?” He pulls back just enough to meet his eyes again, cupping his face and running his thumbs over Thranduil’s cheeks. Thranduil leans in and kisses him, hungry and full of tongue, something Bard returns greedily, uncaring of the murmurs and gasps that go up around them, of all the eyes now on them.

Bard presses a final, adoring kiss to Thranduil’s soft mouth before he’s untangling them, wrapping his arm around Thranduil’s shoulders and guiding him through the staring crowd and toward the truck.

“You think maybe you could keep the room for the weekend?” He tries to sound casual but he’s shaking himself now, needing to get Thranduil somewhere private, needing to get his hands on him, to see bare skin and touch him. 

Thranduil is leaning heavily on him, quiet against him, his cheek resting on Bard’s shoulder as they make their way through the parking lot.

“I’ll call in the truck. Are we really getting the whole weekend together?” Thranduil lifts his head to look over at him, and Bard meets his tearful eyes with a smile. 

“I’ll explain on the way.” He opens the passenger door and steps back to let Thranduil get in. He waits until Thranduil is in and buckled, the flowers laid across his lap, before he jogs around to the driver’s side to climb in beside him.

Thranduil’s hand is waiting for him on the bench seat between their bodies when he gets inside. He gets the truck started and laces their chilly fingers together, bringing their hands up to kiss at Thranduil’s knuckles.

 

The suite is gorgeous, of course, it’s massive and complete with a fireplace and a California king bed that Thranduil collapses down on after he strips down to his silky white underwear without ceremony. Bard undresses slowly, laying each piece of his suit on the chair near the bed, his eyes locked with Thranduil’s. He climbs into bed in his black boxer briefs, his hair down around his face.

They slide together without another word, one of Thranduil’s long legs wrapping around Bard’s hip while Bard licks into his mouth, sighing as he drinks in the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of his body right up against his own.

“Missed you,” he breathes into Thranduil’s mouth, words he’s said dozens of times since Thranduil left home. “God, I missed you.”

He kisses down to Thranduil’s neck, finding that spot that always makes Thranduil gasp, makes him wanton and makes him spread his legs for Bard to fit between. He does it now, too, moves them so he’s on his back and he pulls Bard on top of him, his legs pale and impossibly long and splayed wide for Bard, so vulnerable here for him.

Bard wets his fingers in his mouth and slides a hand down Thranduil’s body, slipping into his underwear and back to rub over his hole, massaging at it while he sucks a slow, possessive bruise into Thranduil’s neck.

“There’s lube on the nightstand,” Thranduil whispers, his breath shivery. “Used it every night, thinking about you.”

“How do you want it? I don’t know if I can wait much longer.” Bard nuzzles back up to his mouth, meeting his eyes while they kiss between words. He slips his middle finger up inside of Thranduil, curling it up and pressing right into his prostate, moaning when Thranduil clenches up tight around him, hips lifting up hard off the bed.

“Hands and knees,” Thranduil pants against his lips, his hands busy shoving at Bard’s briefs, pushing them down so he can wrap both greedy hands around Bard’s cock. “Just like you thought about the first time you met me.”

“Fuck,” Bard growls, his dick throbbing as he hardens in Thranduil’s grip. He lifts up then, crouching between those spread legs, staring into Thranduil’s eyes while Thranduil jacks him off. He looks tired but breathlessly beautiful, eyes still watery from crying with happiness nearly the whole way here, his nipples flushed pink and as hard as the lovely dick between Thranduil’s legs, the one trapped in silk and straining against the fabric. 

Bard pulls back, his dick smacking up hard against his stomach when he gets it free from Thranduil’s talented hands. He reaches down and gets a grip on Thranduil’s arm and his hip to flip him over right there on the mattress, not giving him time to react or recover before he’s grabbing his hips and hauling them up. He tugs Thranduil’s hair out of the messy ponytail, letting it fall in a near-white, soft mass all around Thranduil’s back. He shoves his face down into the pillows, making sure he stays there before he runs his hands up Thranduil’s back, making him arch hard as he slips his underwear down and off. 

His ass is bare and as sweetly flushed as the rest of him, and Bard can’t help but bring both hands down into a hard slap on each cheek, making Thranduil gasp, body tensing as red handprints bloom on snow white skin. 

“Please,” Thranduil whispers, his back arching even harder, lifting his ass up toward Bard. Bard bites into his bottom lip, left hand going down to stroke himself as he brings his right hand down sharp and stinging over and over on Thranduil’s ass, the sounds of it and Thranduil’s strangled sobs echoing around the room until Bard stops just as sudden as he’d started, his hand burning hot as it rubs the sting into Thranduil’s skin.

It’s not enough for Thranduil, not nearly enough, but Bard is already painfully hard, slick dripping from his slit and onto Thranduil’s raw ass as he reaches over for the lube finally. He squeezes some out onto his fingers and plunges three of them into Thranduil’s ass, sinking right in and working him open, so pleased when Thranduil just yelps out his name and pushes back onto those fingers, against his hand.

He curls down while he fingers him loose, letting his warm breath ghost over Thranduil’s ass before he slides his tongue out and licks across all that raw skin, kissing at the burning heat of it. He tucks his fingers in and pulls at Thranduil’s insides to massage his prostate, rewarded with Thranduil shaking under him, with a trembling hand finding his head and grabbing handfuls of hair, holding onto Bard the only way he can while Bard takes him apart with his hand.

“Now, get inside now. I need you in me right now.” Thranduil is mindless and panting, using the hand in Bard’s hair to pull on him now, to beg him back up. Bard can’t help but follow, pressing a final kiss to Thranduil’s ass and sitting up again. He reaches for the lube and pours a line out on his cock, slicking himself up and lining his dick up with Thranduil’s asshole, giving a gentle push in just to tease, just to feel Thranduil tense, to feel his ass lift all hungry and slutty back for his dick.

“Please,” Thranduil gasps, and the next sound of of him is a scream when Bard plunges inside, sinking right up into him and grabbing Thranduil’s hips to keep him right here, where he is. He throbs deep inside of him, his whole body strained forward to make sure he’s all the way inside while Thranduil struggles to breathe, while he tries to get used to Bard’s cock after not having it for nearly a week. 

“Is it too much?” Bard’s voice is just as wrecked as Thranduil’s, and the question is stupid, vain. He moves his hips to grind himself inside of Thranduil, edging in that much deeper, working him open that much more. Thranduil shakes his head, all that lovely hair flying and settling down the line of Thranduil’s long back.

“No,” he breathes, pushing back onto Bard’s cock, fucking at him, working his dick without even realizing he’s doing it. “No, I love it. I can feel every inch of you. God, the way you stretch me out. _Fuck._ ”

Bard pulls out just a little to watch the movement, to see the way Thranduil’s rim stretches wide, to see the strained red clutch of it as he pushes back in. Thranduil’s insides are fucking divine, feel perfect around him, the same as the first time, the same as every single time. It’s always a revelation to be able to have him like this, to be the one to get to do this.

He spreads his hands out on the curve of Thranduil’s hips, thumbs tucked right above the swell of his ass, keeping a tight hold on him as he leans back and finally starts to fuck him, sinking into that warm pink over and over again. 

“Bard, _please_ , ohmygod. Baby, _fuck_.” Thranduil tries to move with him, to give back as good as he’s getting, the sweaty sounds of their bodies slapping almost embarrassingly loud, but it just turns Bard on even more, just makes him thrust in even harder.

He sinks down on top of Thranduil, the weight of his body making Thranduil collapse down on the mattress. Bard fits right up against him, spreading his legs out on either side of Thranduil’s body, trapping him, his dick buried up as deep as it can possibly go. He stays still for a long moment, just throbbing there, listening to Thranduil whimpering and panting underneath him. He knows it’s almost too much, that it’s pleasure so good that it’s nearly painful, just the way they both like it.

He tucks his mouth against Thranduil’s ear, wraps one arm around his chest, their bodies melded from top to bottom, and he lifts his hips to start to pound into him hard, deep, short thrusts that keep him inside as much as possible.

“This how you want it?” He’s nearly growling against Thranduil’s ear, lips closing in surprisingly gentle kisses on his neck just below his earlobe. “Is it good?”

Thranduil can only nod, his eyes squeezed shut tight, mouth parted, his body shaking all over like he’s so close already. Bard shoves in hard, a sharp slap of his hips, and Thranduil screams.

“Tell me.”

“Yessir. _Yes_. God, yes.” Thranduil’s legs tangle with Bard’s, their feet tucking together, giving Bard even more leverage over his body and he just goes that much harder, that much deeper, feeling like the head of his cock is bumping against the mattress under Thranduil’s stomach.

He slides a hand down between their bodies, fingers sliding around next to where his dick is buried inside of Thranduil. He pushes three fingers in underneath his cock, curling them down and locking them right in against Thranduil’s prostate. He rubs at it firmly, pushing in while he tries to keep up some kind of rhythm with his hips.

Thranduil writhes under him then, elbows pressing into the bed as he tries to lift up, to move under the assault of Bard practically forcing an orgasm under him, and he’s truly sobbing now, loud and relieved, Bard’s name caught up between cries as he comes without a hand on his dick, clenching up so tight that Bard follows him down without even trying, sinking up as deep as he can, his fingers still tucked inside of Thranduil as he pumps him full.

They rock together for another several minutes, Thranduil whining soft in his throat and Bard panting as he kisses up the side of Thranduil’s neck, both hands free now and running all over his body, up his sides and rubbing at his nipples and his sensitive, spent dick. 

Thranduil turns his head to catch Bard’s mouth, and they kiss softly, lips swollen from sex and gentle as they finally relax against each other.

“I love you,” Bard whispers into his mouth, and he means it with every bone in his body, with everything in him. He means it so much he wants to say it again immediately.

“Love you so much,” Thranduil breathes, twisting around under Bard, his dick sliding free but Thranduil is on his back now, body hugged up around Bard’s so their mouths can connect properly. There’s the slick warmth of tears on Bard’s cheeks, but he can’t tell if they’re Thranduil’s or his own.

 

The next morning after some truly soul-shaking morning sex, Bard pulls on one of the thick robes from the bathroom and grabs the ice bucket to go in search of ice. He opens the door just as a man and woman about his age are stepping out of the room to the left of theirs.

He gives them an awkward smile and a wave as he pulls the door closed, a little confused by the appreciative look he’s getting from the woman and the frown he’s getting from the man.

“You must be Bard,” the man finally says. Bard raises his eyebrows.

“Um. How… how do--”

“Oh, I don’t know. Somebody’s been screaming it for most of the night and the morning. Just a guess.”

Bard’s eyes widen, his cheeks burning hot. Before he can think of a reply, they walk away, the woman turning to give him a wink before they get very far.

Bard stares after them, still blushing even as ridiculous pride blooms in his chest.

He might have a little bit more swagger as he goes off in search of the ice machine.

**Author's Note:**

> [RUN DON'T WALK TO LOOK AT THE BEAUTIFUL ART DONE FOR ME BY ANGSTYOURWAYIN ON TUMBLR.](http://angstyourwayin.tumblr.com/post/107947234139/they-dont-seem-to-understand-that-thranduil-is) ohmygod, it's so stunning;;
> 
> [more unbelievably beautiful art!](http://annatar-the-gift-lord.tumblr.com/post/109169665701/from-the-fic-warmest-part-of-the-winter-from) look at their sweet faces!;;
> 
>  
> 
> [Thranduil's sweater](http://www.jpeterman.com/Heathered-Sweater), in case anyone was wondering. ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pretend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186485) by [CherryK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryK/pseuds/CherryK)




End file.
